


The Heart Speaks

by kijikun



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kijikun/pseuds/kijikun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel wants so many things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart Speaks

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up to 6x04. Betaed by the wonderful pandionpandeus

The sheets under Castiel's skin are soft - _sinfully soft_ -and cool. Not scratchy, rough, and heated like sometimes he still expects.

"Gathering clouds, Castiel?" Balthazar asks, voice as soft as the sheets.

Castiel makes a soft sound of exasperation but doesn't open his eyes. "That's an impossibility and would be rather pointless."

Balthazar's laugh ghosts warm air against Castiel's skin. "Was that sarcasm, brother?"

"Hmm," Castiel hums softly, flexing his toes. It feels so good to be warmed by the grace of his brother. The added press of heated skin only makes it sweeter. More perfect. Like the taste of apple pie and ice cream in the same bite.

The heat of Balthazar's grace and flesh settles against Castiel's side. Castiel arches his back into the press of Balthazar's hand as it strokes up and down Castiel's spine. His fingers press in at places, working out knots and kinks, making Castiel's wings ache to come out. Contentment swirls through his grace at his brother's ministrations. Dean always said massages were almost better than a good, thick slice of apple pie and home-made ice cream and Castiel agrees so much.

Dean's fingers and hands would be rough--careful, but rough.

"Castiel," Balthazar breathes against his skin. "Oh, my brother." Kisses are pressed to where Castiel's wing joints would be located. Clever, smooth, graceful fingers move just right, press just right.

Castiel's wings break free, leaving him gasping. "Brother."

"Shhh," Balthazar whispers, blowing across the primaries.

Before Balthazar, it had been so long since any hand or grace but his own had touched his wings. These fingers will never leave grease or blood on his feathers. Will never need to be taught how to groom Castiel's wings. Grace weaves through his feathers and Castiel moans softly, distracted.

"You never spent enough time on your wings," Balthazar admonishes affectionately. He carefully straightens feathers and pulls away the broken ones. "Always in study or drills. You were always such a bedraggled mess."

Castiel hums in pleasure. "Uriel tugged too hard," he half complains, content enough that speaking of Uriel doesn't make his grace clench in anguish as it once had.

Balthazar laughs, fingers moving to the secondaries then teasing the soft down around the wing joints. "That explains why I was always straightening them out."

"You liked it," Castiel accuses, tipping his head back knowing he'll be rewarded with a kiss that bleeds heat and grace. Sometimes he doesn't understand why he never craved this before. Why the touch of grace to his wings never made him arch and gasp with _this_ pleasure. It would have been so much simpler, but Castiel never would have met -- he never would have --

Wing tips touch to his as Balthazar licks into his mouth. "Far more than you know, brother." Their grace loops and weaves together as their feathers brush. They've done this before.

Balthazar had pressed him down into sheets almost as soft as these with his body and loved him as a man, then pressed his grace into Castiel's and loved him as an angel.

Grace joining. Nothing for angels is more intimate.

Castiel trembles and presses into the joining.

He wouldn't have had this with --

His grace wavers for a moment and Balthazar's clutches his tighter. "Such expressive grace," Balthazar whispers, voice rough, interlaced with his true one.

Castiel gasps wordlessly, wings and grace straining. He wants closer, closer, closer. He's so alone in Heaven, amongst his other brothers. He needs this grace, this joining, this communion. _Please. Brother. Please._

Balthazar rocks his hips down, pressing Castiel's firmly into the soft mattress. "I'll piece you back together." He nips Castiel's ear.

Castiel keens, hips moving now. He presses eagerly, greedily, down into the mattress, desperate to slake the need Balthazar has added into the grace joining. He wants to protest. He wishes to keep these two things separate. It makes it easier. Easier not to think of marks, souls, and what he once craved so dearly.

"Castiel," Balthazar's voice wavers, his grace pouring into every part of Castiel.

His body seizes, too much pleasure and power for human flesh to contain. Castiel's _voice_ rends the air as his whole self goes supernova.

When Castiel's vessel becomes aware again, when his grace settles, he feels Balthazar stroking his hair. He's laying sprawled across Balthazar's chest, his wings blanketing them. "Your grace misses him."

For a moment Castiel is confused. "I --"

"Your grace calls for him even when your mouth doesn't," Balthazar tells him, kissing his hair line.

Castiel shakes his head. "Brother, no. I'm where I wish to be."

Balthazar chuckles and keeps up the stroking. "Dean's the one that taught you to want, to crave. I'd be an idiot to resent that. Or to not see the attraction."

"His words came too late," Castiel protests. Words that rent him into two because he'd waited, sacrificed, and hoped, but Dean never saw him. Never spoke. Until Castiel had given up, given himself to another.

Another kiss is pressed to his hair line. "Castiel, you of all of us knows that love doesn't work like that."

Castiel clutches at Balthazar. "Balthazar." He can't lose this. Not this connection to a brother that doesn't turn from him, that doesn't see him as tainted. As something to be feared.

"What if you could have us both?" The words are whispered into his ear and into his grace. They curl around Castiel, paint images in his mind. _Green eyes half closed in pleasure. Two infectious laughs against his skin. Hands over hands in his feathers - teaching. Two voices whispering his name, each other's, and his own spilling with theirs._ "Would you like that, Castiel?"

"I -- " He _wants_. But he can't have it and speaking the want would make it worse.

There's the sound of cloth against cloth. A heart beat he created. Breath. he put in those lungs. "C'mon, Cas. You want that or not?"

Castiel opens his eyes to find Dean on the edge of the bed, eyes dark, lips parted. A soul ready to give Castiel everything he had left.

It's only when he's in enveloped in arms, soul and grace, that Castiel realizes he's still whispering _yes_ in every tongue ever spoken.

Castiel wonders what it is that he's agreed to.


End file.
